


You Try Your Hardest

by lookforanewangle



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Gen, brief mention of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6073207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookforanewangle/pseuds/lookforanewangle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Sally Jackson.</p><p>//</p><p>You are tired. </p><p>Ever since you were a little girl, you have worked your absolute hardest to make everything work. Your projects would be done just so, every detail as precise as possible to get that passing grade. You did everything you could to make your parents smile down at you, gather you up in their arms and cuddle you close, whispering loving and kind words into your ears. Their fingers would dance against your sides and you would laugh, -high, shrilling, but excited. Your mother would sing you lullabies, wrap you snugly under your blankets and brush your hair from your eyes. </p><p>Then suddenly, everything you knew was torn away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Try Your Hardest

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr on Sept 2, 2013. I've made a few minor edits to fix grammatical things and flow; no plot changes.
> 
> Mina and I were ranting about Sally Jackson forever ago, which resulted in this fic. Enjoy!

You are tired.

Ever since you were a little girl, you have worked your absolute hardest to make everything work. Your projects would be done just so, every detail as precise as possible to get that passing grade. You did everything you could to make your parents smile down at you, gather you up in their arms and cuddle you close, whispering loving and kind words into your ears. Their fingers would dance against your sides and you would laugh, -high, shrilling, but excited. Your mother would sing you lullabies, wrap you snugly under your blankets and brush your hair from your eyes.

Then suddenly, everything you knew was torn away.

***

You moved in with your uncle. You could tell he wasn’t fond of the idea of you moving in, muttering angrily under his breath the annoying tasks of child rearing. At the tender age of five, you promised to prove him wrong. Once you were old enough, you made your own meals, took care of yourself, got a job and the local movie theater to help him out. You threw yourself into your schoolwork and always did your best to make him happy.

He was nothing like your parents.

For a while you managed, turning in assignments and taking extra courses. You even managed to get some writing of your own completed during your limited downtime. Everything was fine.

Until one day it wasn't.

You received a call from the hospital, informing you your uncle had been rushed to the ER after he collapsed at work. You fled from the school, arriving at the hospital faster than was safely possible, running to the nurse’s station frantic and out of breath. _Your uncle has cancer_ , one of the nurses tell you. _We’re not sure how much longer he has. We’ve never seen this kind before. We'd like to try chemotherapy..._

You know there’s not nearly enough money in the bank for treatment.

A few hours later he is released. You thank the nurses with tears in your eyes and take him home, knowing what you have to do. Once your uncle is tucked into bed, some prescribed pain medicine swallowed and his breathing shallow with sleep, you call your school, informing them you won’t be coming back. Almost halfway through your senior year, too. You swallow down your fear of the future and start applying for a second job. Between taking care of your uncle and your two jobs, you had no more time to write. No time to talk with your friends, no time for even trying to catch up on school work.

A week after you would have graduated, your uncle dies. The little money he had left in his account and the money you were able to earn is put towards his funeral. Not many people show up, less than you expected even, but he is lowered into the ground and buried without incident. Over the next week you’re able to sell some of the old furniture and put the house up for sale and leave it with a realtor before fleeing to Montauk.

***

When you were very little, before your parents were killed in the plane crash, they would bring you here to this little cabin on the beach. You open the door, the stale air that reaches your nostrils filling you with pleasant memories of warm sand and the refreshing breeze as the waves lapped at your feet. You close your eyes and breathe deeply before beginning the cleaning routines. They are rusty in your mind, but you manage to clear the place of sand and spiders, before heading into town to search for a job and some groceries.

The little woman behind the racks of fresh fruit greets you kindly and helps you with your shopping. She offers you a part time job, announcing that she knows of another woman who could use some help with her small pet shop down the road. You accept kindly; the first day back and you’re already having better luck then you have in years.

Within a week you are familiar with the normal customers, smiling and chatting. After spending the morning at the market, you take a borrowed bike to the pet shop ten minutes away. You clean the cages and groom the animals, restocking the shelves with the animal food, treats, and little toys. You start bringing in a steady income. You won’t have enough saved for college this year, but you will work on finishing your senior year of high school. _Next year_ , you promise yourself. Next fall you’ll be off to college to work on your English major, maybe even finish the first draft of a novel.

Five months into the job, you are settled and happy.

Then _he_ shows up.

At first you notice him a ways away while working at the grocery. He is seated on a bench, paging through an old and tattered novel with a title you cannot make out from where you’re standing. There's just something about him that catches your eye, though you can't exactly place your finger on _why_. He glances up over his book and you duck your head quickly, a deep blush settled on your cheeks. You hastily hand the customer their change before pulling off your apron and hurrying towards your bike.

You see him again near the pet shop.

This happens the next few days; you notice him reading his tattered old books and watching you out of the corner of his eye; you cannot tell what color they are but there is an unrequited longing to know everything about this man. You finally muster up the courage to walk over to him after your morning shift the next day.

"Are you stalking me?" The words escape your mouth before you even know what to say. He looks up at you, startled, before a small smile settles on his features, instantly melting your anger and causing your heart to flutter unexpectedly.

“Of course not,” he answers. “Can’t a man sit and read while enjoying the company of people going about their day?”

You narrow your eyes warily, but the worry in your chest stills and you purse your lips. “I suppose,” you answer mildly. “Though the staring is a little creepy.” There is a short and awkward pause. “Would you care to walk with me?”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow, a grin still plastered on his face. “You’d walk with your supposed stalker?”

You snort, amused. “I’ll give you the opportunity to prove me wrong. You tell me your story…and I might tell you mine.”

“Hmm,” he mutters thoughtfully. “Sounds like a fair deal to me. Lead the way.”

He walks alongside you as he speaks, a satchel thrown over his shoulder. Your own bag is settled on your back, your bike rolling steadily in your hands on your opposite side. He tells you of his assignments at sea and his love of reading. He tells you of the ocean, and how this is the first time he’s been able to return in many years. You’re captivated by his stories, and you want to hear more of what he has to say, but you have arrived at the pet shop for your second job of the day. You find yourself being asked to dinner to complete your end of the deal.

Without hesitation, you agree.

The next month or so he is always there, and you find yourself falling deeper and deeper in love than you thought was even possible. He is sweet and funny and kind, and he makes you feel strong, he makes you feel _safe_. One night you finally bring him back to the cabin, your sacred place.

You don’t regret a single thing that happens that night.

***

A few days later, only three days before Christmas, he arrives at your doorstep, face taught, a sense of sorrow surrounding him that immediately sets you on edge. He leads you into the living room and sits you on the couch, your heart pounding restlessly in your chest. He tells you something impossible.

His real name is Poseidon, and he is the Greek god of the sea.

At first you laugh and tell him he’s crazy, but there is something in his eyes, something deep down in you that knows. Knows that all of this was too good to be true and that it would come to an end eventually. You just weren’t expecting _this_.

He apologizes profusely, his deep blue-green eyes shrouded in pain and you know he’s sincere. He doesn’t want to leave you, would never want to, but there are rules he’s broken. He’s been forced to leave, and you say you understand. But you don’t. Not really. Before he can leave, you grab his stubbled face gently in your hands and press a soft kiss to his lips- your goodbye. He kisses you back briefly before dissolving into a light mist, a gentle breeze that softly caresses your face and hair like he had numerous times the past month. You let out a small sob, curling up into a corner of the couch and wrapping your arms tightly, protectively, around your abdomen.

You didn’t get the chance to tell him you were pregnant.

***

Nine months later, on August 18th, Perseus Jackson is born.

Percy is the most calm baby you have ever seen or heard. He loves to move -can’t sit still for more than a few minutes- and loves to babble, but he rarely cries, which makes your nights much easier than you imagined them to be.

A few months in, you receive a letter in the mail. It’s from Poseidon. In it, it explains the specifics of raising a demigod, specifically one of his own. The god himself doesn’t know exactly what powers his son will obtain, if any, but to be watching carefully for signs of them. (This is why when Percy first creates a tidal wave in the bathtub, it doesn’t come as _too_ big of a surprise.) The letter also explains the high probability of ADHD and dyslexia, and the helpfulness of each, as well as warning Sally of the high probability of monster attacks. Being a son of a god of the Big Three, Percy would have a strong scent once he got somewhere around the age of seven or eight, possibly sooner.

This frightens you greatly.

Within a few months you pack up all of your belongings, collect your last paychecks, and get an apartment in Manhattan. It’s small: one bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a small living room, but it is enough.

You’re able to find some small jobs; you clean for a few families every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, on the weekends you work shifts at the supermarket around the corner. The rest of the time is spent caring for Percy. You hope desperately that the smell of the city is enough to cover Percy’s scent; you couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.

After a close encounter with a small monster on Percy’s fifth birthday, however, you realize it’s not.

You end up marrying Gabe Ugliano. He was certainly his last name personified, and he was a complete ass to both yourself and Percy, but if it meant Percy was safe, you were more than happy to sacrifice your happiness for him.

***

Percy is now seven, and you are tired.

It is well after midnight. Gabe is finally passed out in your bedroom. The fight that had ensued earlier had not been pleasant; Percy had tried to stand up for you but had only gotten a black eye in the process. You’re now sitting at the kitchen table, dishes piling up in the sink, the pantries near empty, and a pile of bills fanned out in front of you on the table. The numbers are running together, your vision swimming in exhaustion and worry. The job at the candy store down the street doesn’t have a very high paycheck. Even Gabe’s weekly payments are barely covering the monthly utility bills, as well as all the other things he so often demands of you. Percy had been kicked out of yet another school (which had been one of the main discussions of the fight earlier that night).

You are incredibly, _utterly_ , tired.

You bury your face in your hands, a small whimper escaping your lips. You don’t know how you’ve made it this far, and you honestly don’t know how much farther you can go. Something will happen with Gabe, or a monster will finally find Percy, even after all you’ve done-

The creaking of the floor behind you startles you, and you whip your head around to observe the source of the sound. Percy stands there awkwardly in the doorway, looking sheepishly up at your ragged appearance. You smile softly, your heartbeat slowing as you reach out your hands for him. He shuffles forward and you lift him up into your lap, wrapping him in your arms and brushing his shaggy hair from his face as your own parents had done to you. After a moment he pushes away, much to your disappointment, and sits back in your lap to face you. His big, sea green eyes shine brightly up at you, one slightly swollen from Gabe’s punch.

Percy’s small hands reach up and settle on your cheeks, surprising you. He stares at you intently, small face serious.

“You’re gonna be okay, Mom,” he says quietly. “I love you, and you’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

His words bring tears springing to your eyes immediately and you smile softly, choking on a sob. You quickly pull him to your chest so he can’t see your face and you clutch him tightly, trembling. Percy wraps his own arms around you, and you rock him back and forth slowly. You’re touched at his sincerity, and believe his words.

Somehow, someway, you’ll be okay.

You’ll _both_ be okay.


End file.
